


One, Two, Three

by pennydreadful



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-28
Updated: 2011-03-28
Packaged: 2017-10-17 08:18:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennydreadful/pseuds/pennydreadful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John reflects on a relationship. And this time, he tortures the walls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One, Two, Three

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [One, Two, Three](https://archiveofourown.org/works/618859) by [pennydreadful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennydreadful/pseuds/pennydreadful), [wetson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wetson/pseuds/wetson)
  * Translation into Español available: [Uno, Dos, Tres](https://archiveofourown.org/works/835188) by [randomsociopath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomsociopath/pseuds/randomsociopath)
  * Translation into Italiano available: [Uno, Due, Tre](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3364766) by [DevinCarnes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevinCarnes/pseuds/DevinCarnes)



> This is just a quick bit of smut I had to get out of my head. Porn is my mistress.
> 
> **Since I get these questions a lot: I fully give my permission for anyone to translate any of my works into any language, make podfics/audiobooks out of them, or post them elsewhere (as long as you give me proper credit). Go for it, you don't have to ask! And thank you very much!**

John and Sherlock engaged in three types of sex. John had given all three types a name, though he didn't tell Sherlock this. If asked, Sherlock would probably insist they had at least fifty-three different types of sex and list their variations, which was why John didn't ask.

The first type of sex they had, John called Married Sex.

Of course, they weren't married, or anything even close to it. Sherlock scoffed at ridiculous, mundane, common things like marriage, and to a point, John did too. What they had suited them both very well and it didn't involve joint bank accounts (God forbid), the exchange of jewelry, or the picking out of matching gravestones. John figured they'd die in a massive explosion and they'd never find enough of them to bury anyway.

But the truth was, they'd been acquainted nearly two years—quite a bit more than friends nearly all that time—and the trappings of a relationship had grown up around them. They ate breakfast together in a companionable stupor, John reading the newspaper and Sherlock making derisive noises at his toast; they watched telly together and John learned to simply lean to the side when Sherlock crawled over him to get something; they did the shopping together occasionally, even if it meant frightening the clerks because Sherlock would stare intensely at them while John fished out his coupons; they even sometimes went for walks in the park, despite the incident in which Sherlock had lifted someone's dog because he insisted it was Detective Wilson's missing prized pedigree (it wasn't, by the way, and Sherlock was incensed so many bloody dogs of the same breed looked identical).

Part of those relationship trappings, also, was sex. And while their sex in the beginning had been vital, passionate, honeymoon-period type sex—the 'we-must-fuck-right-now-oh-God-this-is-so-new-and-amazing' sex—as time went on the fire cooled and Married Sex replaced it.

Married Sex was merely pleasant and designed for efficiency. Half the time it sprung from 'I'm a bit horny and I ought to take care of that' and the other half 'I'm quite fond of you and so I'm going to give you this.' Married sex had three flavors:

1\.  The 'in bed at night' flavor. Usually John was watching telly to unwind after a long day at the surgery. Sherlock would be curled against his side, most often in boxer briefs and a worn t-shirt. He might be dozing at first or lost in his own head, but eventually John would feel him getting an erection against his hip and then, like a chain reaction, he'd start to get hard as well. They might grope and kiss a bit. There might be some mutual hand-jobbing. Eventually John would be distracted enough to turn his full attention on Sherlock, then Married Sex would ensue. It involved the quiet squeaking of bedsprings and the TV turned down but still droning in the background and John's socks still being on. When it was over Sherlock would give a soft, satisfied sigh and go to sleep and John would go back to watching the news.

2.  The 'good morning' flavor. If they were snuggled up and John didn't feel quite like facing the day just yet, gentle caressing and morning breath-steeped kisses might lead to sleepy sex. Sherlock was markedly beautiful during these encounters, as he kept his eyes closed and smiled blissfully the entire time, and his tousled hair and sleep-warmed skin was pure delight. John had a soft spot for Married Sex mornings.

3\.  The 'other than in bed' flavor. Far less usually, they might have Married Sex on the couch, if they were too lazy to go to the bedroom or groping while watching TV got a bit heated. There was nothing terribly lurid about this form of sex as they usually did it under a blanket with half their clothes still on. John was always a bit worried about doing it on the couch as Mrs. Hudson had a habit of popping in at all hours and even with a blanket over them, he didn't particularly want her walking in with a pot of tea mid-coitus.

The second type of sex they had, John called Surprise Sex.

Surprise Sex had many variations, and happened several times a month. Sometimes John wondered if Sherlock was reading those insipid articles about putting spontaneity back in your love life, as he was usually the perpetrator. Surprise Sex occurred in too many locales to name but over the past six months John had been ambushed in the following places (though this was by no means an all-inclusive list):

\-   The shower, with Sherlock slipping in and pressing smooth and naked against his back. The shower was a bloody awful place to attempt sex with a normal-sized human, never mind one with miles of limbs like Sherlock had. However, they discovered if Sherlock put his foot up on the side of the tub and leaned over a bit he was the perfect height, even if the position looked a bit silly.

\-  The kitchen table, though this was one of those horrible clichés and John kept thinking the entire time _but we eat here_! Still, Sherlock bent across the table with his dressing gown flung up around his waist and his perfect pale arse reddening under John's fingers was a memory John liked to come back to again and again.

\-  In a stall in the gents at St. Bart's. John thought he should be ashamed, but it ranked up in the top three hottest sexual encounters he'd ever had in his life.

\-  On an exam table at the surgery. It was after hours and John disinfected the table when they were finished.

\-  In the backseat of a car Mycroft loaned them for a case. John had no idea if Sherlock even had a driver's license but he operated the machine with grace. He operated other things very well in the backseat, and Mycroft _had_ said they could use it for whatever purpose.

\-  On the stairs, and John still had no idea what possessed them, because his back hurt for days.

And then there was the third type of sex, and that was the sex John called Motherfucking Beast Sex.

Sherlock's libido was like his appetite: nonexistent when on a case, ravenous directly after. John had tried long and hard (no pun intended) to deny that madness and danger and racing about and nearly being killed every ten seconds got his blood moving and aroused him. Sherlock saw right through his protestations, of course. And when they'd solved a case and come out (relatively) unscathed, the triumphant, smug, self-satisfaction which resulted was the greatest high—and most potent aphrodisiac—in the world.

Tonight, a man had gone to jail and Motherfucking Beast Sex was the order of things.

Thank God Mrs. Hudson was visiting family for the week. John was about to put the headboard straight through the wall. _SLAM_ and he distinctly heard the shower of paint chips. _SLAM_ and half the contents of the bedside table clattered to the floor. _SLAM_ and he heard the crack of plaster.

Sherlock's yelling topped it off; desperate, insistent cries each time John thrust into him. He was stretched out beneath John, head flung back, pillow pushed down under his shoulders, hands grasping at the sheets. A few more thrusts and the bottom sheet was pulled off the corner of the mattress. By the time they finished, John intended for most of the bedclothes to be on the floor.

"Like. That?" John said through gritted teeth, punctuating his words with thrusts. _THUD_ went the headboard and _SLAP_ went their slick flesh, and Sherlock groaned so gorgeously it was like three parts of a perfect, carnal symphony.

"Harder," Sherlock insisted, his voice made of little more than breath. The request seemed impossible to fulfill. John liked a challenge.

John fucked him brutally hard, furiously fast, violently enough to make to make him yell, cry out, bellow—Sherlock's voice was too deep for things like screaming or shrieking but he made all the other noises. _Thud thud thud THUD_ went the headboard, and they emptied the bedside table and pushed the pillows and blanket onto the floor.

By the time John came—and it was like that explosion he was one day sure to die in—they were somehow sideways on the mattress and Sherlock's head was hanging off the bed. John could feel bits of gritty, sharp plaster grinding into his bare knees. No staying half-clothed tonight. They were stark naked, covered in sweat and Sherlock's come. John fell against him and rubbed himself over him luxuriously, marking both of them.

"Wonderful," Sherlock gasped out, in his upside-down position. John dropped his head against his chest and listened to his wild, hammering heart.

It was nights like this that made enduring the Married Sex quite all right.


End file.
